A Crash Course in Family Heroics
by Wicked Witch of the West Side
Summary: Having superhero parents can suck. Being the punching bag of the football team at school at school sucks even more. Getting bitten by a radioactive spider, developing super-human powers and becoming a masked vigilante while having to keep it from said superhero parents sets a new record for sucking.
1. Prologue

**AN:  
Hey guys! So, I've had this account for a while now and I haven't really used it for anything. Recently, me and a friend (Blueninjaminga22) decided to write a superfamily fic since we are both absolutley in love with the concept of Steve and Tony adopting Peter Parker. So we have done that. Just to clear things up, this is an AU of The Amazing Spider-Man which will blend into an AU of The Avengers. Thanks to anyone who might be reading this. Go follow my co-aouthor Blueninjamanga22. She writes great anime fics. Please read and review! Feedback is much appreaciated.**

**I do not own Marvel comics or anything of the sort.**

**Prologue **

_"Feelings of worth can flourish only in an atmosphere where individual differences are appreciated, mistakes are tolerated, communication is open, and rules are flexible- the kind of atmosphere that is found in a nurturing family." - Virginia Satir_

There are many kinds of families.

Neutral families, extended families, families where no blood ties are evident or considered- but they're all the same. There is no strict shape as to what a family should look like. At one point, we are all tempted to say that we hate our family, that they're God-awful people whom we have had enough of. The previous can be said out of petty spite or for legitimate reasons. But we still find ways to love our families, no matter how difficult or strange they can be.

Such was the case when Tony Stark and Steve Rogers adopted the young orphan with big brown eyes and mousy brown hair.

Oh, that particular bit of news made the headlines for sure.

_Multi-Billionaire and Ex-Playboy Tony Stark and Husband Adopt a Son._

It was on the cover of every celebrity loving tabloid along with being some of the most talked about gossip on fan blogs and on the Internet. It was almost as big as Stark's and his unknown fiancé's wedding a year back. While everyone knew who Tony Stark was, no one knew who this tall, blonde mystery man actually was. They only knew he had the same- _er_- preferences as the ex-playboy. Not that it was a shock to anyone, really. A man with that much money, fame, brains and good looks must have gotten bored of the lovely ladies he was involved with.

Knowing how extravagant Stark could be, people expected a big, public wedding with a mile-long guest list composed of A-listers, a red carpet and a massive after party- all the works. But the wedding was very small, the guest list made of close friends (or the closest thing Stark had to friends) with hardly any media involvement. It was suspected that neither Stark nor his now-husband, for whatever reason it was, wanted a huge wedding with all the glitz and glam that everyone had expected.

Their son was nothing spectacular to look at, at least to any normal person who could care less about the latest exploits of the rich and famous. But through the point of view of a camera lens, this shy little boy with his smart looks was a wet dream for the web scene. Unfortunately, for camera-crazy fans and reporters, the boy was shielded from the glitz and glam of the world of stars and billionaires by his fathers. The most the paparazzi knew about this boy was that his name was Peter Parker and he was not to be stalked by cameras or involved in any of the gossip scene- Stark and his husband had made that _very _clear.

The press kept their promise, though Stark did get caught in quite a few scandals over the years- no more racy videos, mind you- but still worthy of being printed inside tabloids, yet not quite extravagant enough to be on the cover.

Past what the cameras revealed, the little family was very close. Stark and Rogers both loved their son to no extent and made sure that he was always happy, safe and loved. Quite the typical family, despite the fact that Peter had two dads. Steve and Tony had always told him to ignore what other kids at school said about it. And he did. Peter was an exceptionally bright boy (much to Tony's delight); he didn't care what the other children thought about his family. They were amazing; no matter how ignorant people could be.

If Peter was to be honest, he would say he had a very normal, happy childhood- his school life being put aside.

Well, that was before he was bitten by a radioactive spider.


	2. Chapter One

**I do not own Marvel comics or anything of the sort. **

**Chapter One **

_"The boys and girls in the clique, the awful names that they stick, you're never gonna fit in much, kid; but if you're troubled and hurt, what you've got under your shirt will make them pay for the things that they did." - Teenagers, My Chemical Romance_

Peter tried to get the day done quickly, talking to nearly no one and being practically invisible. It seemed that the more visible he was, the more torture he received. Stopping at his locker resulted in him getting shoved inside and getting stuck so badly that MJ had to pull him out. Going to the library meant getting shoved behind a bookshelf with a pamphlet crammed in his throat (one that would get so wet with saliva he'd have to pay for it.) Walking in front of the class to write an equation on the board meant getting tricked on the way up there, and on one horrible occasion, having his pants pulled down to his ankles.

No matter what he did it ended up horribly, so he decided against doing anything at all. But according to Flash, "nothing at all" was still an excuse to ridicule.

"Hey, Parker!"

Peter sighed and stared straight ahead at the looming wall of lockers before him, not trying to acknowledge Flash's jeer.

He turned the dial on the lock, opening it quickly and shoved in his history textbook before Flash could shove his head inside.

"Parker," Great. He hadn't been fast enough. "Did you not hear me?"

Peter slammed the locker shut and shouldered his bag, deciding to try his ignore-the-stupid-bully tactic again. Unfortunately, his attempts at ignoring Flash failed. Flash stepped in front of him, blocking Peter's way to the glass double doors that marked his exit from this place. He sighed.

"What do you want, _Eugene_?"

The star football player scowled then cupped a hand around his ear, mocking Peter's quiet tone.

"Speak up, pansy!" he taunted, shoving Peter backwards into the wall and making him lose his balance. "Getting as queer as your dads, are ya? Y'know, Ironman _would _be cool if he didn't have a pussy like you for a son."

Peter noted that some of his cronies from the football team had gathered around- looking spiffy in their football gear and ready for practice- to watch another round of their favorite after-school game—Torture the Nerd.

"I don't want any trouble, Flash," Peter said, trying to straighten his posture. That comment made his little cronies swoon and fawn over each other, pretending to kiss each other. "He doesn't want any trroooouuuble, Flash!"

Flash smirked, his knuckles making a loud cracking sound as he warmed up his punching hand. "I'll give you thirty seconds to run like a pussy, starting . . . now."

Peter wished he could stick up for himself, to stand his ground and punch him in his snide little face, to hit him so hard he'd knock the dye right out of his hair.

As soon as the 'n' syllable in 'now' left Flash's lips, Peter turned on his heels and took off like a bullet down the hallways. He could hear their laughter, calling him a wimp and making claims that he was "as gay as his dads." But that didn't stop him. Words weren't going to hurt him, but Flash's five-ton-fists could. He had to find a place to hide; they couldn't hurt him if they couldn't find him.

He checked door after door after door, most of which being locked tight. He shook the doorknob to the science lab, as if that was going to make the door open. He remembered quickly that Mr. Wright had given him the key to his room so he could help out after school, and his hands shook as he opened the door.

Peter slammed the door behind him, looking around for anything that looked even remotely like a hiding place. He rushed to one of the cabinets, climbing to one of the top shelves and slamming the doors. For once, he was glad he was small and skinny enough to fit on a shelf.

He held his breath when he heard the door swing open and slam against the wall, and heard about nine or ten pairs of footsteps. It sounded like an elephant stampede.

Then there was silence.

"Found you, dickhead!"

* * *

"You have a good day at school?"

"Yeah."

Peter tried not to limp inside the penthouse and tried to muster his most convincing smile as he answered Pepper Potts.

Pepper was his dad's former assistant, secretary, and was practically his dad's nanny for a while. Now she was the CEO of Stark Industries and a very close friend of his family. She was usually away on important business trips or at her own apartment, but sometimes she was at the Tower before he arrived from school, usually fixing them dinner if his dads were too busy. Tony managed to burned water so Steve made dinner most of the time, but he must've been busy tonight. Pepper was inside the kitchen, stirring something on the stove.

"Doesn't sound like it." Pepper rushed to Peter's side as soon as she noticed the limp he was trying to conceal and the bruise along his jaw, now a gross shade of purple.

"What happened, Peter?" she asked as she pressed an icepack against his face, smoothing his hair back. While Peter loved his fathers, Pepper gave him something that was almost foreign to him—a mother's care and warmth.

"Nothing, Pepper." Peter tried to push her off, but it was light and half-hearted. He knew that Pepper could tell because her blue eyes darkened and her mouth was set in a disapproving line. It was the same expression she wore in press conferences concerning Stark Industries or anything else. "I'm fine."

"Peter, you can tell me," Pepper said. Her tone was serious, yet the look in her eyes softened.

Peter thought for a moment, and then sighed. "Flash and his football booty-calls beat me up."

"What for? Calling his teammates his booty-calls?" Pepper almost giggled, but her face slowly turned back into a serious look. Peter shrugged.

"Because I'm a 'queer nerd' and I can't defend myself." Peter admitted, and then sniffed. "Something smells good, what are you making?"

"Beef stew, and stop trying to change the subject." Pepper narrowed her eyes at him, her expression dead serious. "Why don't you stick up for yourself? This has happened before."

"It's not like I don't try!" Peter exclaimed in self-defense. "But I can't throw a punch and he's the size of a bear! Pepper, I can't fight but I can run really fast, so—!"

"If you keep running, he's never going to leave you alone," Pepper sighed. "Peter, I'm supposed to say that. If he thinks he isn't getting to you, he'll leave you alone. But you're a smart kid, so my best guess is that you've already tried that."

Peter shrugged, and then nodded.

Pepper shook her head, clicking her tongue. "So maybe you could try fighting back one day?"

"Wouldn't my dads kill you for saying that?" Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Who's gonna tell them? Not me, not you, I think we're all good," Pepper put a finger to her lips and gave him a small smile. "But until you learn karate, I suggest you keep on running. I don't want to press ice packs to your bruises again. "

"I thought I should go out with a bang!" Peter exclaimed, turning to her.

"I said fight back _one day_," Pepper said. "Today is not the day, so sit down and eat your stew."

Peter winced in pain as he picked up his stew-laden spoon. Pepper had her back to him as she turned off the stove. He cleared his throat.

"Pepper?"

"Yes?" She replied, still busy with her kitchen work.

"Can you, um, _not _tell my dads about this?"

She paused for a while then sighed. "Wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

Peter sighed in relief as he closed the door to his bedroom and crashed on his bed, throwing his backpack on the ground.

"Ow," he muttered as he landed on his bruised shoulder.

He sat up and checked his phone. He didn't use it much- not like he had many people to text anyways- but his dads insisted he keep it for emergencies. Of course, it wasn't just any phone, though. It was a StarkPhone; a cooler phone than most of the kids at school could boast about. A text message flitted on his screen.

_Hey, u ok?—MJ_

Peter smiled as he responded- _yeah, how'd you know?_- Mary Jane Watson was, like, his only friend and perhaps the only girl he could get any attention from. Not that they were dating or anything, they'd been best friends for as long as he could remember.

_Flash updates his status every couple of seconds; the entire school knows that he beat you up. – MJ  
_  
Peter grunted in annoyance. As if beating the snot out of him wasn't enough, Flash had to go ahead and brag about it to the entire school. If he thought it would make him cooler, that desperate airhead would do anything. And if he was getting attention out of 'teaching punks like Parker a lesson,' things were only going to get worse.

_Great _- Peter typed his response and then reached under his bed for his First Aid kit. He found it pathetic that this happened so many times that he stole his dad's first aid kit, hid it in his room, and treated himself in private so nobody would ask questions.

"Master Parker," Peter didn't even flinch when he heard the AI system, JARVIS over the intercom. JARVIS was Tony's security system/computer/sassy English butler. Peter had grown used to the fond English accent checking in on him once in a while but MJ still jumped at the unseen voice whenever he brought her over to work on a project.

"Would you like me to tell your father about your injuries? I am sure he would like to know."  
Peter sighed. Leave it to JARVIS to rat him out.

"No thanks, JARVIS, I'll manage."  
_  
I always do, _he thought bitterly.

"I could call your father's personal medic," JARVIS insisted. "In fact, I still have him on Speed-Dial."

"There really isn't any need for that," Peter said, narrowing his eyes and scowling even though JARVIS wouldn't be able to see it. "I'm fine, see?" he flexed his shoulder and tried his best to keep his painful winces as silent as possible. "All good."

"Perhaps it would be best for a trained medical professional to be the judge of that," The AI's tone was sarcastic. "Because you do not appear to be 'all good, sir."

"Goodbye, JARVIS," Peter said, gritting his teeth.

"I am only trying to help you," JARVIS said.

"And that's nice of you, but not necessary."

"Remember, Speed-Dial—"

"That's nice—"

There was a knock on his door, and Peter scrambled to hide the first aid kid back under his bed. "Uh, yeah?"

The door opened to reveal his dad. From the looks of him, he'd just come out of his lab; the grease stain on his pants were a give-away. Underneath his Black Sabbath shirt, the arc reactor gave off an eerie blue glow, even in the semi-lit atmosphere of Peter's room. Peter remembered how a few years back; Tony had been missing in Afghanistan only to come back with a metal suit, the reactor and a new public title- Ironman. He didn't what _actually _happened in Afghanistan- as his dads never wanted to tell him- but he knew that the reactor acted as a magnet to the piece of shrapnel threatening Tony's life. He also knew that Tony had built the reactor and the suit himself.

Peter acknowledged that the suit and the reactor had saved his dad's life too many times—not just in Afghanistan, but against Russian terrorists with scary mechanism of their own and competition like Hammer Industries. He was grateful for that. Ironman—and Tony Stark—had become public icons in the past few years. Wherever Tony went, cameras were sure to follow.

"What up, Champ?" Tony asked, taking a seat next to him and ruffling his hair. Peter couldn't help but smile as he fixed his hair back into its usual place. Everyone seemed to love to mess up his hair, and he hated that, but he didn't mind it when his dad did it. Maybe because his dad was the original hair-ruffler, everyone else was just a knock-off brand. "How was school?"

Peter swallowed before answering that question. "Fine, dad."

"How did that something-or-other go?" Tony asked. "That thing with the camera?"

"Photography?" Peter raised an eyebrow, grinning.

"Yeah, that. Did the StarkCamera work out for you?" Tony asked. When Peter had first told his dad that he was interested in photography, Tony had insisted on inventing him a new camera. Peter made extra precautions in school so Flash couldn't steal it or damage it in any way— not that he could, though. The camera was shock-proof, water-proof, shatter-proof, anything-proof, really.

"Anything else going on?"

Peter shook his head, feeling a pang of guilt for lying to his father. He didn't think it was fair he lied to his dads, but at the same time, he didn't want to worry them. He was sixteen years old, and well, not a superhero with a suit to protect him, but he wasn't incapable. "Nope, school's still boring."

"It always is," Tony said, patting him on the back. Peter winced again. He was grateful that Flash hadn't given him a black eye as those were harder to conceal. "Did Pepper feed you?"

"Yeah," Peter said, twiddling with his thumbs. "Beef stew, it was, uh . . . it was really good"  
Tony patted him on the back again (Peter fought the urge to flinch) and got up. "C'mon, your dad will be home soon," he got to his feet and walked to the door. When he put his hand on the doorknob, he turned to Peter. "And when he gets home, you can tell both of us who beat you up."

* * *

"You know, this would be the second time I file a claim against that school and I don't think another thousand dollars would really hurt them-"

"Tony, this isn't about the school, it's about a bully who won't leave Peter alone-"

"Then I can sue the kid-"

Peter awkwardly cleared his throat. He and his dads were sitting in the living room, Peter straight across from them in a comfy recliner.

"Um, dads, I'm-"

"No, you _can't _build him his own suit—"

"I'm fine-" Peter tried to say.

"Why not? I'd like to see any kids throw a punch at—"

"Really, it's no big deal-"

"Absolutely not-"

"_Dads!"_

Steve and Tony blinked as their son got their attention. Peter took a deep breath and looked them both in the eyes.

"You don't need to _do_ anything," he said, steadying himself. "It's fine."

"Don't need to do anything?" Steve's voice had a harder edge to it and his blue eyes were staring Peter down.

Peter shook his head, taking a deep breath. "No, you don't. Its fine, I can just avoid him-"

"Oh no you don't," Tony cut in. "You've got to fight back and show him not to mess with you-"

"Tony, no, he's got to stand up for himself without throwing a punch," Steve said, his voice firm.  
Tony glared at him.

_As if I could throw a punch,_ Peter thought.

"That'll just make it worse," Steve continued, locking eyes with his son. "You've got to stand up for yourself, Peter. Be confident about it and this kid will leave you alone. I like bullies as much as you do." He took a deep breath. Did his voice just falter? "But you've got to fight your own battles. I know you can do it."

Peter wished he could tell them all the times he'd tried to stand his ground but with no progress. It just didn't work. He didn't have the backbone for it. He was just another awkward smart kid- easy prey.

"I could've gotten his measurements for a suit," Tony muttered under his breath.

"Thanks, dad," Peter said half-heartedly, flicking on the TV. He knew his dads meant well, but they didn't really get it. Tony was a billionaire with the ability to make a fully-functioning suit out of scrap metal in the middle of a warzone and Steve was an army man. What did _they _know about bullies? They didn't really needto _try_ stand up for themselves, as far as Peter could tell.

"Peter, how'd your biology test go?" Steve asked from the kitchen, trying to change the subject.

"I, uh, I got an A again," Peter responded, but his attention was on the news story. Some masked psycho apparently just stopped a robbery only to steal the money from the robbers and —seemingly— vanished with it. Some guy named Logan had to apologize for the guy since he refused to leave his apartment.

"An A or an A+?" Tony asked.

_What does it take to be superhero? A suit? Spandex? _

"A+, dad."

_Not letting anyone put you down?_

"That's my boy."


	3. Chapter Two

**I do not own Marvel comics or anything of the sort.**

**Chapter Two**

_"Wings won't take me, heights won't faze me, so take a step but don't look down. Take a step."— Ready to Fall, Rise Against _

* * *

Ever since he got his first camera for his seventh birthday, Peter loved to take pictures. Pictures of things, pictures of animals, pictures of people, pictures of places. He'd gotten good at it over the years. He learned all sorts of photo editing secrets with his brand new StarkCamera; he was getting better and better every day. And now, since he joined the Photography Club, he had an excuse to carry his camera around and snap pictures of people. He could always practice his editing by giving Flash devil horns or a shirt that said "Check me before you Wreck me." People _knew _he was good too— earlier this morning, a girl asked him to take some pictures of her… And her boyfriend. Nonetheless, photography was an outlet for him, just as much as writing or music might be to others.

But of all things, he especially liked to take pictures of Gwen Stacy.

Gwen Stacy.

Not only was she pretty- blonde hair, blue eyes, a smile that lit up the room- but she was smart. Her hair was always held back in a no-nonsense ponytail and she was first in every class. Peter quietly snapped a picture of her sitting on one of the tables before she could look up from her book.

"Don't you think she'd find that a little bit creepy?" Peter almost jumped as MJ came up behind him. He let out a laugh. "Find what creepy? I don't know what you're talking about."

Mary Jane rolled her eyes and shouldered her bag. "So, you keeping your head held high after yesterday's incident?"

"Yeah," Peter muttered, looking down at his camera and flipping through the photos. A couple needed editing, many needed to be deleted, and he still had a couple more to take for other couples and yearbook stuff.

"My dads said it was okay if I didn't go to school today, but I couldn't pass up on the offer to show the entire school how tough I am."

"Gwen's probably impressed," MJ said. "So when're you going to ask her out, sweep her off her feet, introduce her to your dads and invite me to the wedding?"

Peter smirked and turned his camera off. He actually _did _want to go to school today. Maybe Pepper was right— maybe it was time to stop running from his problems and keep his head held high. Secretly, he thought Steve and Tony thought the same, too.

"Why are all those people over there?"

Peter was snapped out of his thoughts by Mary Jane's voice. She was gesturing to one of the tables outside, where a crowd had assembled. They couldn't see past the barrier of students, but they could hear chanting and shouts of frustration.

Peter shrugged. "I dunno. Let's check it out."

As drew nearer, the chanting and jeering grew louder. Peter pushed past a group of freshmen boys only to be greeted by Flash trying to shove some kid's face into a plate of food. Flash noticed him and his lips curled up into a smirk.

"Yo, Parker! Get a picture for the yearbook!" He called over the crowd.

Peter shook his head, the crowd now parting for him. The poor kid Flash was terrorizing was being dangled by his ankle, wriggling in Flash's grip.

"C'mon, man, put him down—" Peter started but Flash cut in.

"_I said_," he growled, his teeth clenched, his tone threatening. _"Take a picture, Parker."_

Peter blinked and shook his head again, stepping back only to bump into someone. Flash dropped the kid who scampered away, swaying, probably dizzy from all the blood that had rushed to his head. The jock lumbered towards Peter, glowering. The crowd was now silent.

"Parker," Flash growled his tone as ominous as ever. "Why the hell didn't you take the picture?"

Peter swallowed hard. He brought himself to look Flash in the eyes, remembering how animals saw eye contact as a challenge. He took a deep breath.

"I wanted you to put him down." He said quietly.

"Are you talking back to me-?"

"_Eugene."_

Peter quickly glanced down then looked Flash—_Eugene_— in the eyes again.

"I wanted you to put him down." His heard his voice echo just as loudly as Flash's. There was a silence and then a couple of "oohs" from the crowd. A couple of people started laughing. By far, the one person who found it the least bit amusing was Flash. He glowered, cracking his knuckles and taking a step towards him. The crowd hushed once again as they realized what was going to happen.

"You need to learn not to talk to me like that, Parker." Flash sneered, roughly grabbing Peter by the collar of his jacket and pulling him towards him. Peter swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

_I'm not scared. I'll end up paying for this later but I am not scared. _

Flash pulled his fist back, his face contorted in an ugly grimace as Peter closed his eyes, waiting for the swift impact... But it never came. "Flash," a voice called out. Peter felt Flash's grip on his jacket lessen and he opened his eyes, seeing Gwen Stacy standing a few feet away from them. Her lips were pressed in a tight line and she was hugging her books to her chest.

"Do I still need to tutor you on Monday?" Gwen asked, staring at Flash as if daring him to say 'no.' Flash paused for second, gulped silently, and then nodded. "Yeah."

"For, what, exactly? Calc? English?" she asked.

"… Calc."

"Yeah, why don't we go start on that now, shall we?" She walked forward, grabbing him by the arm and leading him away, blonde ponytail bouncing behind her as she turned on her heel. The crowd slowly scattered, some people clearly disappointed because they wanted to see a fight. Peter wiped his hands on his jeans. He didn't understand at first why Flash seemed to take Gwen as a threat; it wasn't exactly a well-hidden secret that the great Flash Thompson need tutoring in nearly every subject. But then he got it. He needed her when she didn't need him; a secret 'knock it off or else you can tutor yourself' without having to humiliate him. She didn't seem like the type of girl to publicly and openly humiliate anyone, anyways.

* * *

"Now, can anyone tell me about—"

Peter tried to concentrate on the teacher's lecture on something-or-other. His mind was still reeling from the almost-fight that had happened outside less than an hour ago. Ultimately, no punches were thrown and Peter got saved from getting his face pounded into the blacktop by none other than Gwen Stacy. He was grateful that he wouldn't have to go home sporting new bruises, but part of him still wanted to take credit for that. Nonetheless, he still felt kinda proud of himself for telling Flash off.

"Are you okay?"

Peter blinked in surprise and lifted his head from off the desk. Gwen Stacy was leaning over her own desk, blue eyes fixed on him.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine… Fine."

Gwen smiled.

"Good. I'm Gwen. Gwen Stacy. You're the kid Flash is always bragging about beating up? Peter, right?"

Peter smirked. "Yeah, that's me."

Gwen glanced over to the front of the classroom, making sure the teacher didn't have her eye on them.

"Y'know," she said quietly. "I think what you did back there was really brave. Stupid, but brave."

"Oh—"

"Parker! Stacy!"

Peter opened his mouth to say something but the teacher had caught them talking.

"Sorry, Mrs. Evans," Peter muttered, ducking his head down and returning to his work. She'd called him brave. Stupid, too, but also brave. Was that a good thing or . . .? Peter sighed. Girls were confusing. How could he know nothing about girls when his dad was this ex-womanizer? Well, one who turned out not to like women, but well, he should have picked up something.

* * *

"Any more trouble at school?"

"Nope," Peter said, words genuine as he left his skateboard by the door and answered Steve. His dad was currently carrying some boxes out. With a smirk, Peter realized it was the time of year when Tony cleaned out his 'island of misfit toys'- or the junk closet full of scrap metal and old stuff, as it was known to the two other residents of the household. They both helped the genius clean it out every year, but said genius had to be supervising them as he was very persnickety about tossing out his half-baked gizmos and gadgets. It had been a tradition of theirs since he was little.

"That's good, Peter. I hope you weren't being sarcastic, though."

Steve sighed, wiping a bead of sweat off of his forehead. Peter couldn't help but smile, as it took carrying four huge boxes at once to get a single bead of sweat out of him. If there was anything Peter wished he got from his dad, it was his strength. He could punch Flash straight to Vancouver if he was as strong as the great and powerful Steve Rogers. It would be good for Flash, as well, considering the moron probably didn't know where Vancouver was. "Can you help me clean out the storage room before your father gets home?"

Peter shrugged off his backpack and followed Steve into the vault-like closet known as Tony Stark's Island of Misfit Toys. Tony was sitting on the floor, digging through a plastic bin full of scrap metal. He pulled out something resembling a metal spider and flung it aside, frowning.

"These things are from the Stone Age," he muttered. "Oh, hey, Peter. How was school?"

"Great, dad." Peter answered, picking up the metal contraption. It was some sort of robotic spider, its spindly legs tangled. "I, um, met a girl."

"Ooh," Tony smirked, nudging him as he stood.

"A girl, huh? So what's her name, Romeo? Is she hot?"

"Uh . . . Gwen, Gwen Stacy. She's, uh, blonde. Smart." Peter said, blushing a bit as he turned around quickly and began to look through some of his father's items. He was about to ask a mini figurine of Captain America when his father spoke again.

"Smart chick. Nice. Does MJ like her?"

"Huh?" Peter asked, averting his eyes off the toy. "Mary Jane Watson, you know, your future wife. The one you've been hanging out with since like fifth grade? Does she like this Gwen chick?"

"Dad!"

"So I take it she doesn't?"

"Leave him alone, Tony." Steve said, reaching up to dust a cabinet. Even though Steve was trying to defend him from Tony's teasing, the blonde man still smirked at Peter, who was now blushing. Peter ran his finger along a shelf, and wrinkled his nose at all the dust.

"How much dust can accumulate in one year?" He asked, wiping his hand on his pants.

"Oh, there are some places I haven't cleaned in years. There's some stuff in here that I built when I was little." Tony said, picking up yet another forgotten invention. "I forget."

"This place is like Wonderland," Peter muttered, digging through a couple of old boxes. Even though he had been inside the closet—which was more like a vault—he was still struck by that fell-down-the-rabbit-hole feeling every time he walked in. Maybe it was all the stuff his dads kept in here, old projects and medals holding memories or the memories they had made in here themselves. He smiled a bit when he found a box, dusty and old, labeled 'Peter.'

"Aw, I get my own cardboard box?" Peter smirked, looking over his shoulder at his parents. "Guys, you shouldn't have"

"You might want to look inside of it, smartass," Tony raised an eyebrow, while Steve glared at him for using a swear word so casually. "It's a bunch of your baby stuff, from back when we first got you."

Peter blew off seven layers of dust off the box, sneezing afterwards. He opened it, taking off the tape that sealed the ends together. Inside were a bunch of official looking documents, a manila folder and a leather satchel. Peter frowned and picked it up. The dark leather was old and worn yet still soft. It looked like it had been taken on a lot of journeys.

"What's this?" He called out to his dads, still busy on the opposite end of the vast room.

"Oh, that?" Steve asked, picking up a couple of cables using only two fingers and holding it as far away from him as he could, as if it were contagious. "We got that when we adopted you, it sort of came with you"

"Kinda like a fortune cookie." Tony said with a giggle, and Steve slapped him on the back of the head.

"How many times have I told you to stop comparing him to Chinese food?" Steve scoffed.

"Too many times."

"Dads, I'm serious," Peter said, letting his fingers glide over the smooth surface of the bag. "Do you have any idea who this belonged to?"

"Um..." Steve called out from outside the room, wiping his hands as he came back inside. "We honestly don't know, Peter. They just gave it to us at the orphanage. We didn't look inside, but you're welcome to, since it's technically yours."

"But not until you help us clean this place, kiddo," Tony said as Peter was about unbuckle the satchel.

"Fine," he said, setting it down and rolling his eyes at his father. He got back to work, helping Tony sort out his junk pile and his things-I-may-keep pile. But as he sorted through old junk, he couldn't help but feel an almost aching for the bag as it sat in the corner, as if begging him to take a look inside.

* * *

The bag seemed to teach Peter the meaning of the word 'disappointment.' There wasn't a million dollars or a treasure map in there. Rather, there was a pair of glasses, a few small plastic containers, a picture of two men he'd never seen before, and a notebook labeled "Richard Parker." Out of impulse, Peter picked up the book and flipped through it, not sure what he was expecting. A collection of letters to him, maybe? Diary entries, perhaps? A long autobiography about how this Richard Parker really wanted to keep his precious son but couldn't? No. Try pages and pages and pages full of nothing but complex equations.

_Thanks, dad. _

Peter shook his head violently.

_He's not my father. I have two. I don't need this guy.  
_  
For a second, Peter was tempted to take the notebook and throw it out the window. Then it would be gone forever; he wouldn't have to worry about it. But, for whatever reason, he couldn't. Some part of his mind wasn't letting him. Grabbing his laptop and setting the satchel down, he entered 'Richard Parker' on the search engine. After a second, a bunch of links showed up, articles and photos. Peter clicked on the first one, drumming his fingers against his laptop nervously.

_'Biologist Richard Parker and Wife Die in Plane Accident'_

Peter skimmed the article, his heart heavy. He may not have known his birth parents, but suddenly finding out about them and hoping that he could ask them why they gave him up only to have that hope turn into smoke weighed him down. According to the source, his parents had been on a flight to another country when the plane crashed, leaving no survivors. Peter closed his laptop and bit his lip.

_What would my life have been like with them? _

He tried to imagine it for a second, having a mother for once and a father that he could look at and see the resemblance. Maybe for someone to tell him he looked just like his father, or that he had his mother's eyes. Hell, maybe he did, he would never know. Of course, life wouldn't be as glamorous with his birth parents. He wouldn't have all this Stark technology or live in the penthouse of Stark Towers. But now that he thought about it, around half of the bullying he received was because he had gay parents.

_Don't think about it._

Peter shook his head, as if that would knock the thoughts out of it.

_It doesn't matter. _

He pulled out the picture he found in the bag and looked at it closely. The man on the right had dark hair and dark eyes. He wore those big glasses from the 80's. His lips were curved up in a familiar half-smile.

_This is my dad._

He took out the glasses he found in a compartment of the bag. They had a black frame and big lenses. They looked like the ones his father wore in the picture.

Simply out of curiosity, Peter took out his contacts and perched the glasses on his nose. When he looked in the mirror, he realized with a pang that he looked a lot like his father- the same dark hair and dark eyes. The glasses just seemed to be the cherry on top. They made it official: he looked like his father.

_Maybe I shouldn't wear these around_.

Peter took the glasses off. His dads would probably ask questions. Then again, these glasses were comfortable. He did see better with them on . . . yeah, that was a good excuse. His couldn't argue with _that_ logic. Peter got a better look at the picture, turning to the back. Richard Parker and Curt Conners. Peter raised an eyebrow, turning back to the laptop and quickly typing in the name 'Curt Conners.' He skimmed the first article he found on the man. Turns out he was a biologist, just like his dad. He worked at Oscorp Tower, which was just a few blocks down from Stark Tower. His work was closely linked to Richard Parker's as the both worked in cross-species genetics.

_Cross-species genetics?_

Peter bit his lip. Something that included the words 'cross-species' sounded something straight out of a sci-fi novel. And while half of sci-fi is science, the other half is fiction. That man that this guy was either a total genius or a complete nutjob.

_Six years old._

_ He ran across the room, trying to find him. Hide-and-seek was his favorite game to play with his father. His eyes lit up in glee as he saw a pair of shoes peeking out from underneath the curtain. However, he was disappointed to find empty loafers and a broom behind the curtain as he pulled it back. _

_Nice one, dad. _

_Wind blew through the open window, ruffling the curtains and blew some papers off his father's desk. Peter dove down and caught one before it hit the ground. It was full of big words that he didn't know how to pronounce yet. He grabbed another paper that had fallen underneath the big chalkboard his father used. As he reached for it, he stopped and looked up at what was written on it. They were just numbers and letters and things that weren't fun. Nothing that seemed to make sense to him, as he drew on the board. Why wasn't his father looking for him? Didn't he still want to play the game? _

_"Peter?" his father asked, entering the room, his eyes filled with fear as he looked at the board, at the papers, at everything around him. _

_Peter tried to understand what was going on. Was this just another rule to the game? He didn't want to stop playing yet. _

_"Dad?" Peter asked, trailing behind his father. "Are we still playing?."_

_ Richard Parker bit his lip and nervously looked around. He quickly strode over to the chalkboard and grabbed an eraser, frantically erasing everything on the board. Peter blinked. He had never seen his father so... Jumpy. Richard pulled his son close as he knelt down to his height. _

_"Peter," he started, holding the six year old by his shoulders. "We're going to be gone a bit." _

_"Gone?" Peter asked, get a bit excited. "Like . . . like a vacation?"_

_Peter didn't remember ever seeing his father look so heartbroken. He ruffled Peter's hair, and then slowly shook his head. _

_"No, Peter, not like a vacation" "Then... Can I go with you?" the boy asked, brown eyes wide. _

_His father looked away. "No, Peter," he said softly. "I'm sorry. Its adult stuff."_

_ Peter frowned, feeling his eyes brim with tears. "Where are you going? Are you going to come back? Who will take care of me?" He asked, questions spilling out of his mouth. Why couldn't he go with his mom and dad on their vacation? What if they left him or forgot about him?_

_"Y-you're. . . you're going to be staying here for a little while," his mother said between tears, patting down his hair as they left him on the steps of the orphanage "W-well, come back . . . I . . . I promise."_

_ "Don't worry, Mr. and Mrs. Parker," the woman in charge said. She was tall and comforting, with a warm smile that was motherly but not quite as comforting or pretty as his mother's. "We'll take good care of him." _

_"He . . . he doesn't like crust on his sandwiches," his mother said, still fixing Peter's hair and his shirt._

_ "And he . . . can't sleep without a night light . . ." at that moment, his father dragged her away, all while Peter didn't move from his spot, watching them drive off and leave him. All alone.  
He never even got to finish the game._

"Peter, dinner!"

Peter snapped out of his memory, as reality started to come back to him. He was sixteen years old, he lived in New York at Stark Tower, his best friend was Mary Jane Watson, he went to Midtown Science High, and he had two fathers that he loved very much. Whatever his birth parents did, and for whatever reason, it didn't matter.

"Coming!" Peter exclaimed, throwing the bag onto the bed and ran to the dinner table. Hopefully, Steve was cooking tonight. Whenever Tony tried to cook, they always ended up getting take-out.

"Cool glasses," Tony said, tapping them with his finger.

"Thanks," Peter said as he took his seat in between his dads.

"Where'd you find them? They look good." Steve said.

"Under my bed. I haven't, um, cleaned there in a while."

"Well, you should, if you don't want that place to end up like the closet." Steve joked.

Peter smiled half-heartedly and poured himself a drink, trying to keep his mind off his parents. His real parents. Who cares if they left? He was happy with his dads. He shouldn't even feel upset because they died. He never knew them. But there was a nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him to imagine a separate reality in where he was normal. Not the son of a billionaire and his husband. Not the nerd who got pushed around at school.

"We've got some kind of glasses cleaner around here, somewhere," Steve said, setting Peter's dinner in front of him. "For your father's reading glasses."

"I don't wear reading glasses!" Tony snapped, but then straightened his position. "We just have the cleaner around for JARVIS, that's all."

"I don't have eyes, sir, how could I wear glasses?" JARVIS asked, his tone innocent.

Peter laughed, but his mind was still elsewhere. What would life be like if he came home to a normal house, or a regular old New York townhouse? Maybe his mother would kiss his forehead, and ask him how school was. And when he told him about his good science grades, she'd say "you're just like your father." Would that feel any . . . different? Would it be different if it was his birth father, who he shared blood with, whom he shared so many similarities with?

_Why did you leave? _

* * *

**AN: Thanks to my two reviewers for reviewing. You don't know how much than means. Anyways, to anyone who might be reading, I probably will update this fanfic once or twice a month since I am starting my freshman year of highschool next week and I really have to focus on my grades. I might also upload another Avengers fanfiction, but that's undecided since I'll be really busy. Thanks to anyone reading and please review because it makes me very happy. **

**Skipper :) **


End file.
